Live in My Memory
by Apollo888
Summary: Some say if you love someone, you should let them go. Nobody ever said you couldn't go after them, though. A Mary and Matthew modern AU one-shot story in response to an interesting prompt. First in a series, followed by Epiphany.


**Author's Note:** So this kind of just happened. One minute I was contemplating doing a response to a Writing Prompt from _Lala Kate_ that went a little something like this:

"Your protagonist met your antagonist 10 years before the story begins. Only one of them remembers this meeting. Write about it from his or her viewpoint."

I thought I did not have sufficient time to come up with something. However, hours of research and drafting and revising later, I somehow have 7,000 words of a Mary/Matthew modern AU, although it is certainly not from my _Breaking Bread_ modern AU.

Thanks to _Lala Kate_ for the prompt, _Willa Dedalus_ for inspiration and motivation and _patsan_ for convincing me a long time ago that writing one-shots (as opposed to multi-chapter sagas) can be fun.

**Live in My Memory**

**Terminal 4, London Heathrow Airport, West London, England, August 2004**

Matthew cycled through his iPod, frowning as he went from song to song. It seemed everything he saved to this particular playlist was either sad or angry in tone. On the ride over to the airport, the music had fit his melancholy perfectly, but now he wasn't sure he wanted to feel surly or depressed for the entire nine-hour flight to New York.

He glanced about the waiting area. There were parents chasing their young children around, businessmen talking seriously on their mobile phones, and of course, couples holding hands and gazing at each other with star-filled eyes.

"With my luck, I'll be stuck next to some pair snogging the whole time," he muttered petulantly.

He increased the volume on his iPod a few ticks and sat back in his chair, his head falling back on his shoulders. He looked up at the beams of the ceiling and sighed. He really should not have drank that Coke on the way over. Now he would be awake and restless, though truthfully, sleep had not come very easily to him over the past few weeks. The closer he got to leaving, the less comfortably he slept at night.

He straightened and stared blankly across the terminal. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? To finally break out on his own, to go and chase his dream? New York was buzzing with life and art and creativity. He would be inspired there, he knew it. He would ensconce himself in Manhattan and visit all the boroughs and observe all the different groups and scenes and lives and the opus he had been writing in his mind would breathe at last. He had spent the past four years of university saving up for this journey, this adventure. People would kill for a place in the NYU Graduate Program, and somehow he had landed one. He would be spending each day surrounded by other writers, learning and developing his craft. No one to rely on. No one to hold him back. Just him, a 25 year-old undiscovered talent ready to take on America.

Matthew shook his head, the spark of excitement fading to nothing. There was the rub, wasn't it? He would be alone, and if the past year had taught him anything, it was that he certainly did not want to be alone.

She promised him that they would keep in touch. Email. Phone calls. He bought her a camera so they could do video calls over the Web. It wasn't as though he would never talk to her again. He was going to talk to her that night after he landed and got settled.

But it wouldn't be the same as being with her every day. It wouldn't be easy either. Getting in touch with her was hard enough when they were both in London. She was the only 22 year-old he knew with a curfew. Her Aunt Rosamund screened his calls so often that eventually he stopped calling the house, relying on texts to let her know he was around.

Matthew leaned forward, running his hand through his blond hair. None of that mattered. He could deal with her aunt. He could deal with her Society friends. He could deal with the disapproving glances. He could deal with the snide 'What's an Earl's daughter doing with _him_?' spoken just loud enough for him to hear. She was worth it. He would open his veins for her.

He felt a light tapping on his shoulder and he frowned. Probably some foreigner who didn't understand the boarding announcements and wanted to ask him if this was the right Gate.

His mouth fell open as he looked up at a knowing smile and playful brown eyes.

"Mary!" he said in disbelief, leaping out of his seat and hugging her fiercely, lifting her off the ground.

Mary laughed, hugging him back. She turned and kissed his cheek, beaming up at him as he put her back down.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, removing his headphones. "You must have been up before the servants."

"They were rather surprised to see me," she chuckled. "I couldn't let you leave for New York without bringing you something very important to take with you."

"What?" he asked in confusion. He then frowned as he looked at her mischievous expression. "Hang on. How did you get through security?"

Mary flashed him an enigmatic smile and held up a boarding pass in her small hand.

"Easily. I told them I had a flight to New York to catch," she smiled.

"What?" Matthew said in shock. "But how? Why?"

"I hope you already know the 'Who' otherwise we could have a problem," Mary said, arching her eyebrow at him.

He pulled her into a firm kiss, framing her face with his hands.

"Mmm," she grinned as he pulled back. "That's much closer to the reaction I was expecting."

"I still don't understand. Your Aunt Rosamund would never agree to…" he began.

"She didn't," Mary shook her head. "She threatened to tie up my trust fund if I followed you to New York when I told her my plans."

"So how did you convince her?" Matthew asked, somewhat angry that he was the cause of yet another row between Mary and her aunt.

"I didn't," Mary shook her head. "I told her that I want to be with you, and here I am."

"You…you walked out? Oh, darling," Matthew said sadly, hugging her close. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care what she thinks, or what she says," Mary said. "I love you, Matthew."

"God, Mary, I love you," he answered, smiling for the first time in days. A stray fear flared in his mind suddenly. He drew back and looked at her with concern.

"I meant what I said though, Mary," he said carefully. "Between my savings and my scholarship, I barely have enough to cover tuition and rent. The additional stipend that I get from NYU isn't much. I won't have a penthouse apartment in Central Park West or anything close to what you're used to."

"Since when have you known me to care about any of that?" Mary smirked. "We'll be bohemians – hanging out in cafes and bars until our signature creations are ready to be unveiled to the world."

"The New York fashion scene will bow at your feet, Mary, I know it," Matthew smiled.

"Well, I'll probably have to wait tables or something at first, but yes, my first collection will be all the rage one day," Mary laughed.

The British Airways staff took to the microphone and announced boarding for their flight to New York. Mary and Matthew looked at each other eagerly.

"Ready for our grand adventure, Lady Mary?" Matthew grinned, offering her his arm.

"Lead on, Mr. Crawley," Mary laughed, linking her arm with his as he escorted her to the Gate.

**KGB Bar, East Village, Manhattan, New York City, USA, November 2004**

"There was nothing left to do but leave – leave their home, their world, their life. But as they looked to the skies, they smiled and their fingers intertwined. They were hopeful."

A burst of applause sounded out as Matthew closed his notebook. He blushed with embarrassment and raised his hand in acknowledgment. The cheers grew louder, with Mary and a group of their friends shouting his name from the back of the bar.

"Let's hear it one more time for Matthew Crawley!" the host announced over the microphone and the applause and cheers rang out once more. "Matthew will be sticking around if you have any hard hitting questions for him, or if you want to buy him a beer. A reminder that Matthew will be back next Wednesday with another reading, so be sure and come check him out!"

Matthew shook the host's hand and waved to the crowd again as he walked off the stage and made his way towards the bar. He smiled sheepishly as he rejoined his friends.

"A heavy piece like that calls for Jägerbombs!" the bartender announced. "Don't worry, Crawley. The first one's on the house."

Matthew laughed and nodded to the bartender in thanks. He raised his shot with his friends and promptly dropped it into the glass of Red Bull. He gulped down the drink and groaned.

"Aack!" he spat, his face contorting in response to the fiery drink.

"Oh, buck up, Matthew," Alex laughed. "I thought you Brits were supposed to be made of sterner stuff than that."

"You're a Brit too, you know," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Nope, been over here too long. I'm basically considered Canadian now," Alex shrugged.

"Darling! That was brilliant!" Mary laughed, coming over to him and kissing him.

"Thank you," he smiled, holding her by her hips. "You seem to be having a good time."

"Of course I am. My boyfriend is the man of the hour," Mary winked.

"Mary! Come on!" a group of girls yelled at her from down the bar.

"I'll be back, darling," Mary smiled, kissing him on the cheek before she bounced off to join her friends.

"Do you know I was actually worried that she would have trouble meeting new people when we first came over here? Matthew smirked, looking on as Mary and five other girls ordered a new round of drinks.

"Well you both were fortunate that you already knew me, and once I introduced her to Elisabeth, well…you know…" Alex said, taking a drink.

"I must say, I don't think I've ever seen her as happy as she's been these past few weeks. New York certainly agrees with her," Matthew grinned, watching Mary laughing with her friends.

"Honestly, after hearing about all she's been through, I think that she needed to get away from London," Alex said. "There're too many bad memories for her there. She needed a clean start, and you gave her one."

"Well, we're both just getting started really," Matthew said. "She's got a connection at Tommy Hilfiger – someone who knew her Uncle Harold years ago when he was still alive. That would be a Godsend if she got it. We need her to have a real job to get her papers so she can stay."

"You just want her to be able to quit that waitressing job because you don't like people leering at her when she's serving drinks," Alex smiled.

"No," Matthew said, looking at him knowingly. "No, I don't like it at all."

* * *

"Mary, that guy over there has been eyeing you all night," Elisabeth whispered.

"I know," Mary rolled her eyes, avoiding looking in that direction. "I've seen him in here a few times. I can't remember his name. He's Turkish, I think, or Algerian. One of the two. It should be blatantly obvious that I'm with Matthew, but he just keeps staring."

"He's hot," Elisabeth said. "In a creepy kind of way."

"Don't bother," Mary said. "You know there's always a few strange people in here."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right," Elisabeth agreed.

"Of course I am," Mary said. "Now, I think I've about had it for tonight. What about you?"

"I'll be fine," Elisabeth said, leaning over and kissing Mary's cheek. "Go on and take your man home. You two have been having eye sex since he finished his reading. You may as well go and get the real thing."

Mary laughed and hugged her friend. She turned and made her way slowly towards Matthew at the bar. He was still talking to Alex when she arrived at his side. Not paying attention to their conversation, she pressed against him.

Alex rolled his eyes and turned towards the bar to order another drink.

"Mmm, darling," Mary smiled, stroking Matthew's cheek, then kissing his face. "Let's go home and have a proper shag."

"Mary," Matthew laughed, kissing her back. "That's hardly appropriate language for a Lady."

"Fine," she shrugged, moving closer to whisper in his ear. "Take me home and fuck me."

Matthew blushed, his eyes going wide and a stupid grin coming across his lips.

"We're going to head out," he said to Alex, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, his arm firmly around Mary's waist. He fumbled in his pockets for some cash and threw it on the bar.

"Later, Matthew, Mary," Alex said.

"Good night, Alex!" Mary smiled as they went past. Matthew led her towards the door and managed to retrieve their coats with her clinging to him. The air was slightly cold as they walked out of the bar.

"Just how many shots did you have with the girls?" Matthew asked, smirking at her as he guided her along the sidewalk, his arm around her shoulder.

"Enough to want to get you alone and do bad things to you," Mary retorted, leaning up and kissing him quickly.

"What happened to the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley?" Matthew joked.

"Oh, I left her back in London," Mary giggled. "Besides, don't you like it when I behave more American?"

"I don't have any complaints," Matthew smiled, raising his eyebrows teasingly.

"Don't make me blush," Mary smiled, nudging him in the ribs.

"Hey Mary!" a voice called.

Matthew and Mary turned and looked back in the direction of the bar. Three men were coming towards them. Mary recognized the Turk standing in the centre.

"We're having some drinks back at my place on Fifth Avenue. Why don't you come along?" he asked, smiling a toothy grin.

"No thanks," Matthew said, his eyes narrowing.

"Wasn't asking you," the Turk replied coldly. "You're not invited. She is."

"I'm with him," Mary scoffed. "And even if I wasn't, I wouldn't be going anywhere with you."

Matthew smiled at Mary's rebuke.

"You think that's funny?" one of the other men growled, stepping towards Matthew. "How about you just move along and go back to whatever broke ass apartment you live in and let us treat the lady the way she deserves."

"How about you all move along and have a nice night?" Matthew said firmly. He stepped between Mary and the three men.

"Oh, we will," the Turk laughed. "I intend to show the lady there a _very _nice night. A very nice, long, night."

"Get out of the way, bitch," the one man said, grabbing Matthew's arm.

Matthew shoved the man away. The Turk stepped forward and took hold of Mary's wrist.

"Let go of me!" Mary shouted.

"Bastard!" Matthew snarled. He reached over and chopped his hand across the Turk's forearm, causing him to yelp and release his hold of Mary.

"Now you're gonna get it!" another man roared, stepping forward.

Matthew turned and punched the man in the face, his fist connecting with a sickening thud.

"Matthew!" Mary cried out.

The third man came over as Matthew was distracted and shoved him hard with his shoulder. Matthew fell backward straight into Mary.

Mary cried out as she stumbled back from the impact.

The next sound they all heard was the terrifying crack of Mary's head hitting the pavement.

**Mount Sinai Hospital, Manhattan, New York City, USA, November 2004**

"Mr. Crawley," the doctor called.

Matthew sprung up from his chair and came over. "Yes?" he asked. "How is she, doctor? Can I see her?"

"She's asleep at the moment, Mr. Crawley. We gave her a sedative. We were able to relieve the pressure on her brain, and as far as we can tell, she's stable and should recover in the coming days," the doctor said.

"Oh, thank God," Matthew looked up at the ceiling. "Can I at least sit with her? I won't wake her. I just want to be near her."

"Mr. Crawley, there's something you should know. Perhaps you should sit down," the doctor said carefully.

"I'd prefer to stand, thank you," Matthew said, his pulse speeding up.

"Mary woke up, as we expected. We checked her pupils and tested her reflexes, all standard procedure. She responded normally and she seems to have full feeling in all her extremities, which is very good," the doctor explained.

"But…" Matthew interjected.

"We asked her if she knew what her name was, and she did. We asked her if she knew where she was and she said 'a hospital in London'" the doctor said grimly.

"What?" Matthew frowned.

"We asked her what date it was and she couldn't remember the exact day. We asked her what month it was and she said November. We asked her what year it was and she said 2002," the doctor said slowly.

"But how is that possible? Surely, she was just mistaken," Matthew said.

"The nurse asked her three times, Mr. Crawley, and I asked her myself as well. It's not a mistake. We'll know more once the swelling goes down and we run some scans, but based on what we know right now, Mary doesn't remember anything of the last two years," the doctor said.

Matthew stared blankly at the doctor.

"When did the two of you meet, Mr. Crawley?" the doctor asked.

"May 5, 2003," Matthew said quietly.

"That's a problem, you see. If Mary doesn't have any recollection of who you are, then it may be a shock to her to see you when she wakes up. Is there any family or friends that she has in New York that she's known prior to 2002?" the doctor asked.

"No," Matthew shook his head. "Her family is all deceased, except for an aunt back in England. All of our friends here we've met in the last three months."

"Well, the nurses will let me know when Mary wakes up and we can discuss at that time the best way for you to speak to her. In the meanwhile, both of you are British citizens, correct?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, I'm here on a student visa," Matthew said.

"All right. Well, a hospital administrator will be by to speak to you about Mary's care and what is going to happen in the next short while, as well as some other issues – costs and what not. I'll come find you if anything changes, Mr. Crawley," the doctor said carefully.

"Thank you, doctor," Matthew said.

After the doctor left, Matthew sat back down in his chair and stared at the floor. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock as the hours crept by.

* * *

"Oh, Matthew, everything with you is so black and white," she rolled her eyes.

"I think this is black and white!" Matthew shot back. "You know that Mary loves me! She wants to spend the rest of her life with me! And I feel the same way!"

"And look what your devotion has done to her!" Rosamund said venomously, casting her arm towards the bed. "Living in a strange city, barely making ends meet month to month, working as a waitress, of all things! No money, no medical insurance. This is the grand adventure that you promised her, is it?"

Matthew scowled back, bile rising in his throat.

"I'm taking her back to London the moment she's able to travel," Rosamund continued. "She'll have the best doctors, the proper care, and God willing, in time, she'll recover."

"Fine," Matthew said, gritting his teeth. "I can take the next semester off. I'll book a flight when the doctors tell us she can go."

"Oh no," Rosamund shook her head, glaring at him. "You'll go nowhere near my niece ever again. I'll pay for her medical bills, I'll get her back home where she belongs, and I'll see that she gets better. You…you will remain here and never contact her again."

"You're mad if you think I'll agree to that!" Matthew growled.

"What choice do you have, Matthew?" Rosamund said in disbelief. "Look at her! Do you think she's going to wake up and everything will be back to normal and you can carry on as you have been? She'll need therapy, nurses, home care, to say nothing for the hospital bill for her stay here that must be paid. Do you think you can provide for her care, either here or in London? You can't! You can't afford it!"

"Mary would never want me to leave her, no matter what you say!" Matthew shouted. "You can't just keep us apart as a condition of her recovery!"

"Just you watch!" Rosamund barked. "You heard what the doctors said. She has amnesia caused by brain trauma. How do you think that happened? Because you brought her to some seedy bar in that heathen Village of the city and got into a brawl like a bloody hooligan! The best thing you can do is stay the hell away from her and leave her with her family where she belongs!"

"She belongs with me!" Matthew shot back. "You know she'll never be happy back there. You can parade all the useless toffs you want in front of her, it won't change a thing. When Mary recovers, she'll remember everything and she'll come find me!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Rosamund bit back. "She doesn't remember anything from the past two years, which means she doesn't remember you at all. I intend to keep it that way. I won't let you put her in danger ever again. All of her friends, all of Society will be only too happy to forget all about you."

"You can't just erase everything we had together!" he shook his head.

"Oh, I can," Rosamund nodded vehemently. "I'll change her mobile. I'll have someone erase her computer hard drive. Whatever it takes, Matthew. It's no good for her to remember you, to remember the terrible choices she's made in the past two years. I'm going to give her a fresh start and put her on the path she was always meant to follow."

"You're not doing what's best for her, you know!" Matthew said bitterly.

"On the contrary," Rosamund declared. "Before she met you, she was a proper lady with a bright future. After everything she's lost in her life, Matthew, can't you see that she belongs in London? I took her in after her parents and sisters died. I'm the only family she's got. I can give her the life she deserves. You can't. Can you truly see Mary one day being happy as the wife of a struggling writer? I'm sure you think that you have good intentions, regardless of how much I disagree with them, but you can't afford to take care of her, Matthew. This isn't some fairytale from one of your stories where there's always a happy ending and everything is golden. This is the real world. For God's sake, think about someone other than yourself for once in your life and let Mary go."

Matthew struggled to breathe. He turned to look at Mary, her head wrapped in bandages, various tubes and electrodes connected to her arms and chest.

"Do we have terms?" Rosamund asked coldly.

Matthew's heartbeat raced as tears fell down his cheeks.

"I'll let you have five minutes with her," Rosamund said. "When I come back, I want you gone, for good. And do not contact her again. Don't make me have my lawyers deal with this, Matthew. It can only end badly for you."

The clicking of her high heels on the floor as she walked away sounded like gunshots to his ears.

Matthew carefully moved over to Mary's bedside. He sat down and took hold of her hand, squeezing it desperately. Mary did not respond.

"Mary, darling," he smiled bravely, looking at her closed eyes. "It's going to be all right. Everything is going to be fine. Your Aunt Rosamund is here and she's going to take you back to London so you can get better. You'll be more comfortable there, with your family…and…friends."

He fought back a choked sob, but failed. The tears flowed and he gasped again and again, fighting for breath. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, clearing his vision as he looked at her, memorizing every feature.

"I love you, Mary. I will love you until the last breath leaves my body. You've made me so happy, my darling. I know that I'll never be happy with anyone else as long as you walk the Earth," he cried.

"One day, you'll meet someone else and you'll marry. Perhaps it'll be second best, but it doesn't mean you can't have a life," he said, swallowing hard.

Matthew leaned forward and kissed her lips, then her cheek, and her forehead. He looked down at her face and smiled as fresh tears poured from his eyes.

"Goodbye, Mary, and God bless you," he whispered, kissing her again. He rose up and released her hand. Turning, he walked briskly from the room. His mind was blank, his feet carrying him down the hall to the stairs. He couldn't wait for the elevator. He had to keep moving. He took the stairs quickly and clumsily, almost stumbling out of the building as he ran from the hospital.

He didn't stop running until his legs gave out miles later and he crumpled to the ground.

**Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, England, December 2007**

"Mary, are you ready?" Rosamund asked as she came into Mary's bedroom.

"What do you think of this brooch? I can't decide," Mary asked, examining her reflection in her vanity mirror.

"It's lovely," Rosamund smiled. "I wanted you to know that I've invited a friend to the party tonight to meet you."

"Oh, Aunt Rosamund, not again," Mary rolled her eyes. "How many times must I be ordered to marry the man sitting next to me at dinner?"

"As many times as it takes," Rosamund frowned. "His name is Sir Richard Carlisle. He owns a media company and several newspapers and…"

"Tabloids and rags, you mean," Mary shot back. "He loves publishing celebrity scandals all the time, whether they're true or not."

"Those tabloids and rags have made him a very rich man," Rosamund noted. "You would be a force at his side. You would host the grandest parties, be privy to the most guarded gossip…you'd be a powerbroker, Mary."

"I'd be a trophy," Mary said coldly. "Haven't you seen the women he parades around with? They're all young and a certain type, don't you think?"

"That's his business," Rosamund shrugged. "So long as he takes care of you, I don't care what he gets up to. Now, be sure and take care of him tonight."

"I doubt he would be interested," Mary said dismissively. "My vocabulary is far too advanced compared to the women he usually favours. Besides, he seems the type who doesn't want his wife to have a career of her own, and I could never agree to that."

Rosamund rolled her eyes. She glanced over at her niece and frowned slightly.

"Are you still wearing that necklace?" she asked, peering closer.

"Yes," Mary said easily, touching the gold necklace with the small heart shaped pendant. "I never take it off. You know that it's my favourite."

"It's rather…simple, isn't it? There aren't even any diamonds on it," Rosamund said.

"I like it," Mary smirked.

"Wherever did you get it?" Rosamund asked.

"I can't remember," Mary blinked. "It must have been during my trip to New York, but I don't have any memory of it."

"Ah," Rosamund said, turning for the door. "Well then, I'll see you downstairs."

**HarperCollins Publishers LLC, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2012**

"Matthew. Thank you for coming," the woman smiled, shaking his hand and motioning to a plush leather chair.

Matthew sat down. He folded his hands together in his lap to stop them from shaking.

"You'll find it's all as we discussed, Matthew," she continued, sliding a stack of papers across the table to him. "$50,000.00 up front and $4 per book in royalties. I have to say that you drive a hard bargain for a first-time author, but we have faith in you, and we're pleased that you've agreed to give us first rights on your second book."

Matthew read over the contract, flipping pages as he went. He paused over several passages, then continued to read. It was exactly the same as the draft he had revised five times beforehand.

"Looks good," he said politely. He took out a pen from his inside pocket and signed three copies of the contract. He slid the papers back across the table.

"Excellent," she said, signing the contracts herself and providing a signed copy back to him. "And here is your cheque."

Matthew took the envelope and placed it on top of the signed contract. He didn't bother to open it.

"Now, I have a bit of a surprise for you," she smiled.

"A surprise?" Matthew frowned.

"Yes," she nodded. "I have someone who is rather eager to meet you."

She picked up the phone on the boardroom table and dialled an extension.

"Yes, we're ready for her. Send her in," she said.

Shortly after, the glass door to the boardroom opened behind Matthew. He rose from his chair and turned as a petite redheaded woman came in. She smiled at him and extended her hand.

"Matthew Crawley," she said. "I'm Lavinia Swire, Vice-President at Sony Pictures. We'd like to talk to you about the film rights for your book."

**Executive Suite, The Westin Palace Hotel, Madrid, Spain, February 2015**

"Hello, Mother," Matthew said absentmindedly as he activated his headset.

"Matthew," Isobel said warmly. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm all right, thank you," Matthew said crisply, glancing around the bathroom for the soap.

"And how is Madrid?" she asked.

"Warm and beautiful," Matthew smiled. "I truly love it here, even though my Spanish is absolutely rubbish."

"How was the signing?"

"The turnout was more than the publisher expected," Matthew chuckled. "The line was out the door, in fact. I wasn't able to make much small talk, sadly, but everyone seemed to have a good time. My hand is still sore."

"When will you be in London?" Isobel asked.

"I was thinking early next week," Matthew said. "I want to hang around here and watch a match before I go. Real Madrid plays Barcelona on Saturday."

"I think that you should come up tonight," Isobel said firmly. "If you're finished with your work commitments, then come home."

"Why, Mother?" Matthew frowned. "We'll have plenty of time together once I arrive next week. London is the last stop on the tour so you'll have me to yourself for weeks afterward before I go back to New York."

"It isn't for me, Matthew," Isobel said. There was a long pause as she went quiet.

"Mother," Matthew asked in concern. "What is it?"

"Lady Rosamund Painswick died today, Matthew," Isobel said. "She had an aneurysm. She apparently collapsed in her home this morning."

Matthew's mouth dropped open in shock.

"I…" he struggled.

"Come home, Matthew," Isobel said. "Come back and go to her."

Matthew shut his eyes tight, memories flooding back. He leaned over the sink and opened his eyes, staring at his reflection.

"Mary doesn't remember me, Mother, you know that," Matthew cringed. "It's been over ten years."

"Matthew, the brain works in miraculous ways," Isobel said. "Even today, we do not fully understand how memory works exactly. Mary's memories of you could simply be buried somewhere, waiting to be discovered once again."

"Or they may be gone forever," Matthew said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Mother, I let her go. I let her go so she could have a better life, a life that I couldn't give her."

"A life that you supposedly could not give her back then," Isobel said pointedly. "I dare say that you are in a far different situation now, if the New York Times' Bestseller List is any indication."

Matthew sighed and closed his eyes.

"Do you remember when she surprised you at the airport, Matthew?" Isobel asked softly.

Matthew blinked and frowned as if his mother could see his expression.

"Of course I do!" he scoffed. "I was resigned to having to live apart from her, then I looked up and she was there."

"She was there…" Isobel repeated. "She gave up everything she knew to follow you to New York."

Matthew closed his eyes again, Mary's beaming face filling his thoughts.

"You should have more faith, Matthew," Isobel said kindly.

Matthew opened his eyes.

"I'll be on the next flight," he said.

**F.A. Albin &amp; Sons Funeral Home, London, England, February 2015**

"Mary," he said.

"Henry," Mary smiled politely, accepting his kiss to her cheek. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Henry nodded. "I'm so sorry, Mary. I can't imagine what you must be feeling."

Mary nodded sadly. "You would think I would be used to this," she shrugged. "James, Patrick, Papa, Mama, Edith, Sybil, Granny, now Aunt Rosamund. I guess it's just harder this time because for so long after my family's accident it was just the two of us. She raised me from when I was a young girl. We didn't get along all of the time, of course, but she was the only family I had left."

"If there's anything that I can do, please ask," Henry said.

"Thank you," Mary said.

"I wish you would reconsider what we talked about," he said quietly. "Let me take care of you, Mary."

"Henry," she shook her head. "My answer is still no. I know what everyone says. I know everyone thinks that I'm a fool for rejecting Evelyn, then Tony, and now you. You are dear to me, you know that, but we're just not suited to be anything more than friends. I'm sorry."

"Very well," Henry nodded. "But friends keep in touch, you know."

"I will," Mary nodded. "Please thank your parents for the flowers. They're lovely."

Mary watched Henry turn and leave the funeral home. She sighed and turned back towards the front of the room. Her legs felt like rubber and her neck ached. She had been standing for most of the visitation, nodding politely and accepting condolences. She did not know most of her Aunt Rosamund's friends, though there were a lot of visitors who showed up. Throwing all of those infamous parties over the years ended up being good for something, Mary thought wryly.

"Lady Mary, that looks like the last of them," the director said. "I'll just be in the office. We'll close up later and see you in the morning."

"Thank you," Mary nodded. "I won't be long."

She crossed her arms in front of her and rubbed them as she approached the casket. She gazed down at her Aunt Rosamund and sighed.

"We had more than our share of fights, I know, but I know that you always thought you were doing what my parents wanted for me, even though you had a strange way of showing it," she whispered.

Mary's hand reached up and touched her necklace, flicking the pendant through her fingers. It was a strange habit she was never able to break. She always played with her necklace whenever she was nervous or bored or for no particular reason at all. It made her feel calm.

He paused in the doorway and just stared. He forgot to breathe as he watched her. She was looking at the casket, her long fingers playing with something around her neck. Her legs were wrapped in black stockings, her dress hugging her form. She was still angular and lithe, her sharp chin and even sharper eyes clear to him from where he stood. She had cut her hair into a bob that came down past her ears. He swallowed as he took in the nape of her neck.

He slowly ordered his feet to move, knowing that if he stood still much longer he would either break out in tears or yell out her name. With each step he composed himself, taking deep breaths as he rounded the rows of empty chairs and came into the aisle. He drew closer, each year of their separation fading away as he approached.

She turned at the sound of footsteps behind her.

"Oh, hello," she said, seeing a taller man with blond hair wearing a dark suit come into the room. "I thought you were the manager."

"No," Matthew said, swallowing nervously as he stopped within arm's length of her. "I just found out about Lady Painswick yesterday. I was in Spain at the time, but I wanted to come pay my respects."

"Thank you," Mary nodded. "The funeral service is tomorrow, though frankly I don't know if I'm feeling up to it."

Mary looked down at the floor and frowned slightly. Why had she said that out loud?

Matthew stared at her for several moments, his fingers flexing as he stifled the urge to reach out and embrace her. God, she was just as beautiful as ever, even dressed in black and in mourning. He turned and looked over at the casket to stop himself from gazing at Mary for too long.

'_She really doesn't remember me'_, he thought sadly.

"It must have been an awful shock," he managed, looking down at Rosamund's body.

"Yes, it was," Mary nodded. "She lived a full life, of course, but I don't think you ever expect these things to happen. She just hosted her usual Winter Season party in December."

"Lady Painswick was a…nice woman," Matthew struggled. After all that had passed, he couldn't bring himself to hate this woman, despite what she'd done.

"Yes, a very nice woman," Mary agreed, though she didn't actually believe it. 'Nice' was not a word that she would use to describe her aunt. Nevertheless, this stranger wasn't the one to trouble with all of her grievances with Aunt Rosamund.

"I'm sorry, you're probably wondering who I am," Mary smiled shakily. "I'm Mary Crawley. Rosamund was my aunt, my father's sister."

"Matthew," Matthew said, his voice catching as he extended his hand. He swallowed as their fingers touched. "Pleased to meet you, Mary."

He held on to her hand and couldn't let go. He stared at her for several moments, finally gathering the strength to release her hand when he saw her brow furrow into a confused expression.

"Did you know my aunt well, Matthew?" Mary asked, trying to distract herself as she struggled to understand why the air seemed heavier around them suddenly.

"We had some history," Matthew nodded, glancing at the casket. Though the last time I saw her was ten years ago."

"I see," Mary said, puzzled at his answer. He hadn't seen Aunt Rosamund for ten years, and yet he flew in from another country to pay his respects?

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice your necklace," Matthew said quietly.

"Oh, this," Mary said with a slight smile. "It's just something I picked up in New York ages ago. I've worn it ever since. I suppose you could say it's my good luck charm."

"Ah," Matthew smiled. "It's lovely. It reminds me of a very similar necklace that I saw in New York sometime ago as well."

"What a strange coincidence," Mary said, looking at his blue eyes. She didn't know if she'd ever seen eyes as blue as his before.

"Yes, quite strange," Matthew nodded.

"Lady Mary," the manager called. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware you had another visitor."

"It's fine," Mary said quickly. "We're done for tonight." She turned to Matthew. "The visitation was over about an hour ago, actually."

"Right, of course," Matthew nodded, looking away. "Well, I'll be going then."

"Are you originally from London, Matthew?" Mary asked as they slowly made their way down the aisle together.

"Manchester, actually, though I did live here for a while. That seems like a lifetime ago," he said.

"Ah, and are you staying with family while you're here, then?" she asked, not quite sure why she did.

"No," Matthew shook his head. "Mother still lives in Manchester. I don't have any other family, actually. I'm staying at the Shangri-la. My publisher always puts me up there."

"Publisher? So you're a writer?" Mary asked, looking at him intently as they came out into the foyer.

"Yes. A novelist," Matthew nodded. "At least, I like to think so, anyway."

"Anything that I may have heard of?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I'm actually on a promotional tour now for my first book. It's called _Epiphany_," Matthew said, blushing slightly.

Mary stopped and blinked. "Goodness. You're Matthew Crawley!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. You just look…different…from the photograph on the book jacket, is all."

"That photograph was rather rubbish, actually," Matthew chuckled. "It was a windy day and they wanted an outdoor shot for some reason. I thought I ended up looking rather dishevelled."

"Oh, I don't find you dishevelled at all," Mary said lightly. She blinked when she realized what she had in fact said.

"I must say, _Epiphany_ is one of my favourite books," she continued, trying to move on from her previous slip. "I was actually shocked at how strong your female protagonist is."

"Are you saying that men cannot write women properly, Mary?" Matthew smirked.

"No, not at all," Mary blinked. "Well, perhaps," she smiled.

"Truthfully, you're probably right for the most part. I happened to be rather inspired when I wrote the book," Matthew said.

"Was she based on anyone you know in real life?" Mary asked.

"That's a rather personal question, isn't it, Mary?" Matthew smiled. "I get asked that in interviews and at signings all the time and I always decline to answer."

"I won't tell anyone that you told me," Mary whispered. "No names, no pack-drill."

"I don't know if I can trust you, Mary," Matthew said. "After all, we just met."

"You should have more faith," Mary smiled.

"Perhaps," Matthew nodded. "Though I must warn you, the story behind how I came about the characters in that book is a rather lengthy tale in itself. I couldn't just tell you yes or no and leave it at that."

"Ah, is this the moment where you suggest that we have dinner back at your hotel to talk things over in more detail?" Mary said playfully, a blush coming to her cheeks. What was she doing flirting with this man? All right, he was a somewhat famous author, but did she really just offer to go back to his hotel?

Matthew felt lightheaded as Mary's words had a marked effect on his pulse and his body. His mother had warned him to take things slow, to not spring any revelations on Mary right away or try and trigger her memories. Such gestures may end up backfiring on him. It wasn't as important that he resurrect their old relationship as it was for him to try and plant the seeds of a new one.

'_Oh, stuff going slow'_ he chastised himself.

"I assume you speak in the form of mockery?" Matthew said, his eyes issuing a challenge to her.

"Oh, I don't know," Mary replied, not stopping to filter her answers. "Perhaps I'm trying to see whether you're up for a challenge? I do like a good argument, you know."

"If you really like an argument, then we should see more of each other," Matthew fired back.

Mary's heart fluttered for the first time in years. Wasn't she just displacing her interest in the book to its author now? Just because he knew how to write an engaging tale didn't mean he was interesting himself, did it? And even if he was interesting, and handsome, and playful, and witty, that didn't mean she was _interested_, did it? She spent years fighting off would-be suitors and dating at a glacial pace. Why was she now plunging headlong into...whatever this was?

Matthew extended his arm to her.

"What about it, Lady Mary?" he asked, looking at her intently, blue eyes locked on brown.

"Why not?" she smiled, linking her arm in his as he escorted her out the door.

"Lead on, Mr. Crawley."

**fin**


End file.
